


Bullet Point Dance

by LadyDrace



Series: Junk Ficlets from Tumblr [77]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Murder, POV Stiles, Pre-Slash, Stiles is Alpha Bait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 18:11:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7474593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's pretty much the apocalypse, and it's hunters against supernaturals, neither side pulling ahead. But Stiles has a few special gifts that could turn the tide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullet Point Dance

**Author's Note:**

> So this should be a MILLION times longer and more in depth and better written and and and… but [the bro kept posting about this](http://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com/post/141600102863/for-the-alpha-bait-stiles-which-is-so-totally-my), and I had an idea, and I needed to write it, and so I did, but oh god, this is completely unbetaed and written in a rush and too goddamn short, but…
> 
> [Bro](http://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com/), please accept this tiny offering instead of the massive 100k fics you deserve. <3
> 
> Originally posted [on Tumblr](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com/post/141605737301/dystopian-alpha-bait-stiles) unbetaed.

He’s thirteen the first time they send him out there.

 

He debates running away, like he has ever since the day he was torn from his childhood home, his father lying still, so very still on the floor. But while the hunters are cruel and Stiles is little more than a slave, there’s always worse fates. And if he does this for them, at least he’ll be kept marginally intact. Because if he does this, and does it well, he’ll be worth something to them. Be a useful tool. And tools are valued in this war between the hunters and the supernaturals. Humans are not.

 

So Stiles goes where he’s sent, makes himself look scared and shaky, which actually isn’t hard, because he _is_ scared, and scrambles through the woods until he’s inevitably stopped by a pack of werewolves.

They’re all alphas, which even Stiles knows is wrong. But war makes strange bedfellows, and no one follows the rules anymore. Rules just get you killed.

 

“Well, look what we have here,” one of them says. He’s big and beefy and wolfed out. Because they all are, now. No reason not to be.

 

“What a pretty little thing you are,” another one purrs, drawing in a long breath. “Mmmm, tasty.”

 

Stiles shudders with disgust and fear, because he knows the risk. Knows what will happen if it doesn’t play out like it’s supposed to. “Woah, okay, hey now, uhh. Nice to meet you guys and all, but I got… uh… somewhere to be, so I’ll just-” He turns on his heel, only to be faced with a pretty magnificent pair of boobs belonging to a wolf who’s come up silently right behind him.

 

“Oh, but sweetie, what’s the rush?” She touches him, runs a hand down the length of his arm, scenting him and smirking as the others move restlessly nearby. “We’re all friends here.”

 

Step one is complete. Now, step two. Stiles has all the steps in his head like a giant blinking billboard of bullet points, because he needs to get this right. He backs away from the woman, keeping tabs on where everyone is. There are five werewolves in total. That he can see, anyway. And he carefully backs towards one of the less obvious ones, making it look like he hasn’t seen.

 

As expected, Sneaky comes up behind him, and Stiles jumps as a snarl-wrinkled nose is tucked into the crook of his neck. “Gah! Okay, hah hah,” he giggles weakly, making a good show of it. “Yeah, very friendly, definitely, but I really gotta-”

 

“Gotta what? Got a sweetheart at home?” a burly one asks, claws curling slowly into fists, and Stiles marks him as step three.

 

“No! I mean, yes, _yes_ , definitely have someone waiting for me. Who’ll be very worried if I’m late, and… and who has a gun. A big one,” he stammers and ducks away from Sneaky, makes like he stumbles, which takes him in the direction of Burly.

 

Boobs looks like she’s about to make a grab for him, which actually helps him look genuine as he scrambles back further, right into Burly’s arms.

 

“Don’t run, sweet thing. If you run, I might not be able to restrain myself. If you’re nice to me, I could be nice to you,” Burly murmurs, as Stiles squirms in his grip.

 

“We could all be very nice to you,” Boobs adds, and a few others growl low in their throats. Burly tightens his grip, though, and okay, Stiles might not need the next few bullet points.

 

“You’d only ruin him. I should go first, soften him up,” he licks up Stiles’ neck, which makes him shudder. “Gotta be gentle the first time with such a young pup.”

 

“You’re assuming we’d want your leftovers,” Sneaky snarls, and a chorus of growling assent rises around him. Any second now.

 

“Don’t like it, I guess you’ll have to do something about it,” Burly rumbles right next to Stiles ear, and for a long, suspended moment Stiles thinks he’s gonna end up in the middle of the fray. But at the last minute Burly flings him aside, and immediately after there is a clash of fangs and claws, roaring and snarling, trees shaking around them. Stiles looks around, but everything beyond the trees is dark, and it’s only when one of the wolves howl with sudden pain that he remembers the last bullet point, and drops down flat onto the ground.

 

Arrows whistle through the trees from all around the wolves, and Stiles keeps his head down, hearing bodies drop one by one as the wolfsbane tips find their marks. When it’s finally quiet, Gerard is the one to haul him to his feet and clap his shoulder so hard his shaking knees almost give in.

 

“Not bad, kid. We’ll make a decent hunter of you, yet.”

  
Stiles very much doubts that, but he’s learned after months of running his mouth without thought that Gerard is the one person you do not want to antagonize. So he keeps his head down, accepts the crude jokes about his sweet alpha-bait ass, and resigns himself to doing it a lot more in the future. The hunters might treat him with disdain and cruelty, but, as is more than obvious to Stiles now, he could be worse off. So very much worse.

 

The magic is a surprise. Stiles can’t easily find information on things, but the quick peeks he gets on laptops and in books when he’s cleaning up Gerard’s office at the compound, at least tells him that it’s rare. The fact that he should keep it secret is a no-brainer, since the hunters literally burned a warlock alive the same day Stiles was taken. So accidentally stopping the plate in mid air when it would otherwise have dropped and made a racket, thereby ensuring punishment from one quarter or another, is quite a source of terror at first.

 

Stiles would much rather ignore it, but he isn’t stupid, and he begins training immediately. Control is an imperative, literally a matter of life and death for him, and his preferred method of ignoring problems until they go away probably won’t work here.

 

He’s fifteen when he’s caught. Life has actually been improving. He’s got his alpha-bait routine down pat, does it with great success several times a month, and he’s Gerard’s favorite trap for roaming alpha packs. He’s been training every moment he’s been alone, night or day, whenever he’s unobserved. And he does the same one morning in the cells where they sometimes keep supernaturals to experiment on or use for leverage of some kind. He’s practicing tying and untying his shoelaces with his mind while he cleans, and he’s focusing so hard on the task that he somehow misses the hunter coming in.

 

The accusing cry dies on his lips, because Stiles is going on sudden and desperate instinct, now. He _cannot_ be found out. Most likely inspired by Star Wars, he reaches out and clenches his fist, the man’s throat closing with a nasty squelching sound, and Stiles shakes with terror as the man squirms and claws at his throat, finally collapsing a minute or so later.

 

Stiles goes out the back, breaks the keypad lock with an electric zap of magic, which he learned to do only last week, and then runs to the nearest hunter to sound the alarm. He’s interrogated, but not genuinely a suspect. He’s still only a kid, thin, lanky and jittery, and sometimes goes weak from the sight of blood. Yeah, no one thinks it could actually be him.

 

He vomits in the bathroom as soon as they let him go. For all the alphas he’s lured to their deaths, this is different. This is the first person he’s killed on his own. But considering what he is, this is probably his life now. He begins to consciously plan his escape.

 

His sixteenth birthday comes and goes before he finally gets his window. He’s brought along on a trip away from the compound. That in itself doesn’t happen very often, but this time things go pear shaped. Gerard, or, more likely, his increasingly insane daughter Kate, somehow overreached, and they barely set foot inside the coveted Hale territory before they’re ambushed.

 

They barely make it out alive, and Kate rants and raves for hours about filthy mongrels and abominations, and that’s when Stiles makes up his mind. Whoever these wolves are, this is personal to Kate, and logic would dictate that it would also be so to the Hale pack. So that’s his in.

 

With the entire camp on alert it’s difficult to sneak away, but three guards put to sleep, and quite a significant fire started in Kate’s van with a mere thought, and he slips away into the tall trees.

 

He knows there are wards. He’d felt them when they crossed the border, but of course he hadn’t said anything at the time, and the ambush had given him a good opportunity to test his don’t-look-move-on skills. But this time he wants to be seen. He’s banking on his magic to give him a pass on being immediately killed, but it would be better if-

 

“Stop right where you are.”

 

Red eyes gleam at him from the darkness, and he damn near grins. Because this couldn’t be more perfect. He does follow orders, though, stopping sharply, and slowly putting his hands up. “I come in peace. I’m unarmed. I’m not a threat to you.”

 

He’s not doing anything deliberately, but thanks to his special rapport with alphas, they’re somehow always more likely to believe whatever he projects. If he acts like prey, they treat him like prey. If he acts like a confident whore with a wolf-kink, then they’ll take that as face value as well, no matter what amount of good sense they normally possess. It’s evident in this one as well, because as cautious and distrustful as he’s acting, he hasn’t called for reinforcements.

 

“What do you want?” the alpha asks, which is more presence of mind than Stiles usually expects at this point. But there’s also only one alpha here, opposed to the several he’s used to playing up against each other, so this one probably isn’t feeling an immediate challenge.

 

“I have a proposition for you.” The intentionally vague term has the intended effect, and he can almost feel the alpha’s ear perk up as he steps out of the dense brush and comes closer.

 

“Keep talking.”

 

Stiles almost laughs, because he can’t count the number of times in his life he’s been told the exact opposite. “How would you like to wipe out the Argents once and for all?”

 

The name makes the wolf go tense and wary, obviously conflicted. Because all alphas are subconsciously driven by a desire to get closer to Stiles, but the Argent name is clearly enough to rattle this one. “How?” he asks, wavering, and Stiles rewards him by tilting his neck _just so_. Submission, temptation, seduction. Stiles knows this dance like the back of his hand. But he’s not gonna dance all the way to the end of this song tonight.

 

“I’ll tell you. But you’re gonna have to call your friends here first. And maybe take a very cold shower.”

 

The alpha frowns, but Stiles blinks slowly at him, changing his stance slightly to look more open. More  _willing_. “Call them all here. Let them watch…” _as you claim me_ , is left unsaid, and it does the trick. The alpha puffs himself up slightly, and then throws his head back in a brief howl. He’s stepping towards Stiles when three betas crash through the trees, claws out, only stopped by the furious and possessive roar of their alpha.

 

“What the hell, Derek!?” one of the less timid betas cry, even as she cowers.

 

The alpha, who is evidently named Derek, is moving in to touch the tempting neck, but Stiles changes his stance again suddenly, now offering up nothing. “Stop,” he says, quietly, but firmly. It wouldn’t work in the frenzy of several alphas, but with only one it buys Stiles some time, so he can turn to the betas. “I’m sorry for this, but I’m gonna need you to take me in and give me some mistletoe.”

 

“Why the _fuck_ would we give you anything? Especially something that hurts us!” the broad and dark beta snarls.

 

“Because the mistletoe will dampen the sheer awesome that is me, which is currently giving your alpha a boner. And then? Then I can be of help to you. More than that, actually. I can be your new best friend.” Stiles finally lets himself grin in the way he’s been dying to all night.

 

“I can get you the Argents.”

 

End, fuck.


End file.
